


You Could Bench Press Me

by lezzerlee



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Felching, M/M, Rimming, Size Kink, Sweat, exercise, weightlifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lezzerlee/pseuds/lezzerlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames works out. Arthur tries to distract him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Bench Press Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after viewing [this gif](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lwwgktrLRp1qd9vcjo1_250.gif), which is truly tantalizing and mind-numbingly hot.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [herinfiniteeyes](http://herinfiniteeyes.livejournal.com). Any remaining mistakes are my own.

“Arthur, you’re in my way. I’m busy.” Eames continues to pull the wire-attached bar in short arm curls, lifting the heavy square weights from their resting place at the base of the pulley machine. The clink of metal on metal is a steady rhythm echoing off the walls of the small, mirrored room. 

“I could give you something better to lift,” Arthur replies coyly. He leans against the frame of the weight’s rig, crossing one ankle over the other in false ease. His skin is hot, prickling with anticipation. He has been watching Eames for the past few minutes before coming into the room.

“While I like that idea, Arthur, I only get so much time for this in a day. This job needs a specific physique. If you want to forge my papers for me so I can continue to work out later, be my guest.” Eames lets the weights down slowly, then turns to grab some free weights from a rack, measuring them out before securing them to a metal bar on the floor. Once the pin is in place, Eames squats to lift it up, the fabric of his gym shorts pulling tight over the curve of his firm ass. Arthur’s mouth turns down in a pout as he watches Eames curl the bar to his chest, ignoring the clear invitation. The flex of Eames’ muscles ripple underneath the tattoos on his arms. Eames glimmers with sweat, beads of moisture snaking their way down the planes of his skin. Arthur licks his lips, pulling the bottom into his mouth to chew on it in frustration. When he looks up from raking his gaze over Eames’ body, he catches Eames staring back at him in the mirror. 

 _Later_ , Eames mouths silently. But Arthur doesn’t want to wait for later, he wants him now. He pushes himself off the metal structure to stand behind Eames, reaching out to trail his cool hand down Eames’ hot skin. It’s wet, flushed with blood, and Arthur can smell his heady, natural musk as he stands close. He moves his hand down Eames’ back, enjoying the way the muscles jump underneath his palm. 

“Arthur,” Eames warns, continuing to curl the weighted bar to his chest. Arthur ignores him. He pets over Eames’ skin, his hand becoming slick in the process. Eames bends to set the bar down and turns, crossing his arms in irritation. “Arthur, you are always the one pushing for more professionalism. Need I remind you?” Arthur draws his hand away, fingers slick with sweat, and Eames sighs before wandering away to another corner of the room. He picks up two twenty pound hand-weights and settles into a slight crouch, legs splayed shoulder-width apart. Eames holds his arms parallel to the ground, and they shake with the effort as he squats. Arthur can see the toes of his shoes dig into the floor for balance. Eames’ thighs tremble as he bends ninety degrees to the angle of his knees, his back straight as an arrow. 

He has been down here for hours, working every muscle group Arthur knows about (and then some). Eames is right, the job does require a certain physique and certain level of skill. He does need to practice, but Arthur thinks that it can wait just this once. Or three times. He may have interrupted before, but who is really keeping track? 

“Get your mind off of it, Arthur. I know exactly what you are thinking,” Eames calls. Apparently Eames is keeping track. Arthur ignores this and continues to watch until Eames is done with his squats, because he doesn’t want to injure Eames with what he plans next. Besides, he likes the view of Eames’ ass thrust out, rising and falling to the floor with purpose. 

Eames pops up with a quick, labored exhale. His breathing is hard, ribcage expanding as he sucks in steady, controlled breaths. He sets down the weights and grabs his water bottle from the floor a few feet a way. Taking a large gulp, he quirks an eyebrow towards Arthur. Arthur waits. Eames waits. When enough time has passed, Eames seems to conclude that Arthur is content with simply watching, so he moves over to the bench press. After adding weight to the bar, he lies down on the narrow bench and reaches out to grab it. He lifts it from the supports with each hand, and lowers the weight to his chest as he inhales. On an exhale, he pushes the weight away from his body. Arthur casually walks over to the bench, standing beside it as Eames continues his repetitions. 

Arthur can hear him count faintly on each breath... “Three, four, five,” as Eames zones out into the lifts. On the eighth press, Arthur makes his move. He straddles Eames’ body in one swift movement and settles down onto Eames’ hips. He’s there to catch the bar if Eames’ arms stutter from surprise or muscle fatigue. But Eames just pushes the bar up without breaking tempo and settles the weights back onto their hold. 

“Arthur,” Eames growls as his hands find their way to Arthur’s hips. His fingers trace harsh circles into Arthur’s skin. Eames’ sweat soaks through the thin fabric of his trousers, and he knows there will  be dark stains marring them when he gets up, but he doesn’t care. He can feel Eames’ heat radiating from between his legs. He reaches out to settle his palms on Eames’ chest and smooths them up Eames’ pecs, to catch Eames’ nipples in the V of his fingers. He leans and slides forward until his palms wrap over the top of Eames’ shoulders, inching himself lower and lower. His head dips to capture Eames’ lips in his own. Arthur feels Eames breathe heavily into his mouth as he presses his entire clothed body against Eames’ chest. 

Eames allows Arthur’s tongue to slip inside his mouth to play over his crooked teeth. Arthur licks in, breathing through his nose, becoming unbearably hot with Eames so close. His hands continue to slide up until they are braced on the bench beside Eames’ head. Then he lies flat against Eames’ chest elbows resting beside Eames’ neck as he tangles his fingers into Eames’ wet hair. He feels Eames’ hands crawl from his hips up to his sides. They brush over his ribs, eliciting an jerked, ticklish reaction. Arthur doesn’t pull away, but rather works his tongue deeper into Eames’ mouth to taste and consume all of him. Eames groans below him and slides his hands up over Arthur’s shoulders to his neck, then pets down his sides until he reaches Arthur’s flank. 

Eames’ hands cup the curve of Arthur’s ass, fingers pressing firmly into his skin through his pants. Arthur returns Eames’ groan with enthusiasm. He grinds his hips down, circling them over Eames’ growing erection, teasing Eames as he sucks his breath away. Eames’ hands shift back onto Arthur’s hips, thumbs tracing over the line of his cock through his pants. Arthur gasps into Eames’ mouth and his fingers wrap more firmly into Eames’ hair. He rocks his hips forward without thinking about it, wanting more friction, wanting his clothes off right now. But just as he’s about to shift his weight to sit back and pull his shirt over his head (buttons be damned), Eames’ grip hardens. He easily lifts Arthur up, and his abs are taut in the effort to sit upright. His legs straddle the bench as his hands dart behind Arthur’s back to catch him just before he falls back and off of Eames’ body. 

As he lifts Arthur up, all of Arthur’s limbs scramble in an awkward tangle as he tries to stay in his embrace. Arthur’s arms catch around Eames’ neck and his ungainly legs wrap firmly around Eames’ waist as he hangs on for dear life. Eames laughs at his shock, and Arthur smiles once he feels balanced again. Eames kneads Arthur’s buttocks as he bends his head forward to suck at Arthur’s neck. 

“I thought I made myself clear,” Eames says. He slowly penguin walks to the end of the bench. The bench too wide between his legs and Arthur’s weight making movement slow. Once his legs are past the barrier, he carries Arthur easily and quickly to the mirrored wall. He presses Arthur’s back up to the cool surface and drops his hands, and Arthur’s arms tighten instinctively around his neck. When he rests his hands on the mirror beside Arthur’s body, the heat of his skin leaves fogged circles around his fingertips. He pulls back to level a look at Arthur’s face, and Arthur shivers. It’s irritated, near dangerous, and for the first time that night Arthur thinks he may have severely miscalculated Eames’ mood. 

But then Eames’ hands leave their spot on the mirror to snake between their bodies to unbutton Arthur’s shirt. Once there, he pulls the shirt open and begins to untuck Arthur’s undershirt. His fingers touch bare skin and Arthur nearly whimpers at the contact. Arthur feels hands trail up his sides as Eames pushes up his shirt. His arms start to feel like jelly from the effort of hanging on, supporting his weight as Eames slowly plays with him. Eames just stares as his hands work up Arthur’s body, and Arthur finds that he can’t look away, can’t break eye contact as Eames’ intense blue-gray eyes bore through him. 

Finally, Eames finds Arthur’s nipple underneath his shirt and pinches lightly. Arthur’s mouth drops open slightly as he exhales, just barely catching the breathy moan in the back of his throat. Eames continues to look at him like he’s trying to break into Arthur’s mind, take him apart with his gaze. Arthur still stares back. Shifting his weight, Eames props him higher up on the mirror. Arthur’s arms go a little slack as he’s moved, but his legs tighten around Eames’ waist. When his back is fully against the mirror, he lets go of Eames’ neck to find that he’s pinned to the wall and won’t slide down if he doesn’t support himself on Eames’ shoulders. 

His arms slowly drop until they are lightly resting at the crook of Eames’ elbows. Eames lifts his hands, curling them inward until he’s taking Arthur’s wrists in his fingers. He breaks Arthur’s hold, making him drop his hands down to his sides. Then he brings his hands to Arthur’s neck and cups the column of it in his palms as his thumbs stroke along the line of Arthur’s jaw. He slowly splits his fingers apart to massage Arthur’s shoulders and push his shirt away as his hands move down. Arthur arches his back away from the mirror to release the fabric. The sleeves catch at his wrists before Eames tugs them off with force and drops the shirt to the floor. Then he grabs the edge of Arthur’s undershirt and draws it up over his chest. Arthur raises his arms so Eames can guide it over his head. The glass is cool against his bare skin and it breaks out into gooseflesh for just a moment before he gets used to it. 

Arthur’s shoulderblades start to ache as the bones press up against the hard surface, but he doesn’t complain. Eames leans forward to suck a kiss on his collarbone. He nips at Arthur’s skin, leaving a red circle on the surface. Then he mouths over Arthur’s sternum until he can leave a twin mark on the other side. Arthur closes his eyes and revels in the feel of Eames’ lips on his flesh. He notes the delicate circles Eames’ thumbs trace over his sides as his’ hands find a place at the small of Arthur’s back. 

Arthur tips his head back and breathes. His eyelids flutter when Eames hits a ticklish spot, and they crumple into a grimace when Eames bites at his nipple a little too hard. Despite the conflicting sensations, he finds himself becoming lost beneath Eames’ ministrations. Just as he’s about to zone out completely, lost in a world of quick nips and kisses, he finds himself dropping to the floor. It’s like a kick, a sudden weightlessness, the sense of being completely helpless as he feels his body fall and waits for the crash, but it never comes. Eames catches him just before he would hit the floor, laughing in his face as he holds Arthur to his body, squatting near the floor. He is now wrapped around Eames like a baby monkey to its mother, startled and breathless. Before he can bite out an insult or complaint, Eames captures him in a passionate kiss. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright and dancing with mirth. They lack the danger they held before, and Arthur finds himself smiling back automatically. 

“Sorry, darling,” Eames laughs. He then lets his grip go slightly slack so that Arthur’s legs drop. It feels awkward to find his balance with his legs so close to the floor, but he finally steadies himself by kneeling. Eames sits and rolls onto his back, arms resting behind his head as a pillow as he stretches out his body. He looks far too pleased with himself and Arthur’s lips quirk into a smile at the smug expression. 

“Just can’t help yourself, can you?” Eames asks. 

“Mmmm,” Arthur confirms. He crawls over Eames, and leans down to kiss his navel. 

“You know, if you need to keep working out, you can lift me as we fuck. We could kill two birds with one stone,” Arthur suggests. He likes being pressed against the mirror, trapped between it and Eames’ heavy bulk. Eames laughs but shakes his head no. 

“Gotta work out my glutes,” he says. He splays his legs wide, his feet flat on the floor, and thrusts his hips up for emphasis. Arthur barks a laugh and catches his fingers on the edge of Eames’ shorts as he sits back on his heels. 

“Indeed. We mustn’t forget about that key muscle group,” Arthur replies. He slowly drags the elastic of Eames’ shorts over his hips and Eames lifts his butt from the floor so that Arthur can pull them off. He isn’t wearing any boxers underneath. Arthur raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“You may be a bit predictable,” Eames says with a grin. Arthur pulls the shorts past Eames’ tennis shoes and tosses them to the side. Then he drags his hand up Eames’ leg, from his calf up to his inner thigh. His hair feels soft beneath Arthur’s fingertips. When he makes it up to Eames’ testicles, he cups the sac in his hand and lightly squeezes Eames’ balls in his palm. Eames groans appreciatively. His hips rock in little circles over the mats as Arthur’s hand continues up to grip around the base of his erection. 

“I guess I’ll just have to catch you earlier next time if I want you to take me up against the wall, won’t I?” Arthur asks. 

“I guess so,” Eames drawls. His prick jumps in Arthur’s hand when Arthur swipes a finger over the head. “Arthur, you are wearing too much clothing,” Eames says. His fingers tug uselessly at Arthur’s waistband, the edge of it just barely too far out of his reach to get a good hold of it. Arthur releases Eames’ cock to to undo his fly and comes up on his knees to pull his pants and briefs down. He then sits to pull them over the bottom half of his legs and tugs his shoes off at the same time. He sets them to the side and digs through a pocket until he finds a packet of lube. 

“So prepared,” Eames says, and Arthur knows it should sound mocking, but it’s too soft to have bite. He twists the top off of the plastic with his teeth and pours a little of the contents over his palm before he begins stroking Eames again. Eames’ mouth drops open as Arthur pumps his cock in his fist. His hand scrabbles over the floor until it finds Arthur’s knee. He urges Arthur forward, fingers pulling at Arthur’s skin until Arthur inches his way closer. He dips down to kiss Eames again, and Eames relieves him of the lube packet. He dexterously squeezes out some slick using one hand, then drops the packet onto the mat. He props himself up on his elbow has his other hand makes its way between Arthur’s ass cheeks. Arthur moans into his mouth as Eames’ fingers swipe over his hole. His finger sinks in easily; they've fucked enough this week for Arthur to not need much stretching. Eames adds a second finger quickly, but the third takes a little effort and by the time Eames is about to add a fourth, Arthur is gasping against Eames’ neck. His arms wobble as he holds himself up and presses his hips back onto Eames’ hand. 

“Now. Now, now now,” Arthur mumbles, not wanting to wait another moment. Eames pulls his fingers out without hesitation. He maneuvers Arthur’s leg over his hip until he’s straddling Eames’ body. His hand is firm on Arthur’s side as his other grips his own cock to position it at Arthur’s entrance. Arthur sits back, and while the press of Eames’ cockhead at his hole delicious in its own way, he keeps going... sinking down, slowly allowing Eames to split him open. His head hangs between his shoulders and his spine presses out against the thin skin of his back as arches down and sits in Eames’ lap. His throaty groan is loud in the room when Eames is fully sheathed inside of him. Eames’ hand has somehow found its way to Arthur’s chest, and it feels warm pressed just over his heart. His other hand flexes on Arthur’s hip. 

They sit like that for a while, allowing Arthur to adjust, before Eames starts to rock his hips. Arthur bites his own bottom lip and breathes harshly through his nose as Eames builds momentum. The mats pull at the skin of Arthur’s knees as he tries to keep himself upright over Eames’ body. 

“Here,” Eames whispers breathlessly, his hand wrapping around the back of Arthur’s neck to guide him forward. Arthur falls, chest to chest, with his face pressed into Eames’ neck. Eames pulls his feet back in an imitation of the move he displayed before, with knees spread and hips thrusting off the floor. He pushes his body into Arthur’s, driving himself in fast and faster. Fresh sweat streams over his skin and he pants into Arthur’s hair. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Arthur,” Eames hisses as Arthur bounces on top of him. He can feel his shoulder hit Eames’ chin, but he can’t do anything about it. He just lets his body ride atop Eames’, losing himself in the sensation of Eames’ thick cock inside of him. 

Arthur’s cock is trapped between their bodies, sliding slickly against Eames’ stomach. It’s not enough friction and it’s too hot, but he can’t bring himself to do more. He just wants to feel Eames’ muscles beneath his body, all of the power as he’s held in place. Eames’ hips snap faster and faster and his cursing turns to unintelligible vowels as he nears his climax. With a few final harsh thrusts, he comes wetly in Arthur. Arthur whimpers as he feels Eames’ come slide out of his body to pool at the base of Eames’ cock as he continues to roll his hips beneath Arthur. 

With a shiver, Eames finally stops and pulls out. Arthur gasps as more come leaks out. He goes without resistance when Eames slides him to the side and pushes him to the floor. His face sticks to the mat as Eames grabs his hips and props them up in the air. He leans in to lick at Arthur’s hole, catching his own spunk on his tongue as he swirls it over Arthur’s twitching muscle. Arthur hiccups moans into the floor and his hands reach between his own legs to desperately pull at his cock. He jerks himself as Eames’ large, hot hands hold his ass open as he eats Arthur out.

After a while he finally feels his orgasm surface. It springs from its hiding place at the base of his spine to pool in his balls before bursting forth like a geyser from his oversensitive cock. He spills himself onto the floor and shudders, lungs clutching with hot, gasping breaths beneath his ribs. Eames licks a few final swipes up his ass before sucking a kiss and pulling away. He lets Arthur’s hips go and they fall to the side. 

Arthur is a limp pale angel on the dark of the mats. His hand slips in his own wet mess, but he doesn’t even care because Eames lies down beside him and pulls him into a spooning position. He bites at Arthur’s ear a little before lying down to breathe against Arthur’s neck. Arthur starts to drift to sleep, but Eames smacks at his ass softly, not letting him pass out. 

“Shower,” he commands. Arthur grumbles when Eames sits up, but a moment later Arthur sits as well. 

“Did... did you get your glutes properly exercised?” Arthur mumbles. He really shouldn’t try to make jokes this soon after coming. He sounds drunk to his own ears; who knows what he sounds like to Eames. 

“The best work out they could get,” Eames jokes back. He props his hands on his own knees and pushes himself to standing. He reaches down to help Arthur up. Arthur’s hand is sticky, all of his skin is sticky, and his clothes are strewn about and covered in Eames’ sweat. 

“Shower,” Arthur says. 

“Shower,” Eames confirms. He slaps Arthur’s ass on the way to the stairs as they make their way towards the bathroom in their bedroom above.


End file.
